


His Muse

by ira_fae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Artists, M/M, Muses, Painter Armitage, Photography, Pure unadulterated Kylo Ren worship, soft, vegan fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ira_fae/pseuds/ira_fae
Summary: Life made a little more sense with Ben Solo in his life. It was as if he finally had all of the pieces of the puzzle. He had gone years (twelve, to be precise) without a so-called muse. He prided himself on it.Then Ben Solo waltzed into his life and just wouldn’t leave. And suddenly, his art became softer.-Or; Armitage Hux is a painter and loves his muse so much
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	His Muse

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted some softness

Life made a little more sense with Ben Solo in his life. It was as if he finally had all of the pieces of the puzzle. He had gone years (twelve, to be precise) without a so-called muse. He prided himself on it. 

_ He didn’t need a muse to be successful. _

Then Ben Solo waltzed into his life and just wouldn’t leave. And suddenly, his art became softer. The usual geometric shapes became softer, rounder, pinker. His modern abstract landscapes filled with light and glass and flowers. His color palette turned brighter. 

_ He didn’t need success when he had his muse. _

Said muse currently lays stretched across his pale blue divan, a cream sheet wrapped around his hips and between his legs, creating artistic modesty. 

“You can paint me nude, Armitage,” he had said. As if he needed the reminder. He’d already done several portraits of Ben in the nude. He’d turned him into a figure of history, the background haloing the beauty of him in all his naked glory. 

Armitage may have spent much too long perfecting the way Ben’s manhood looked in that painting. He doesn’t regret it. It’s one of his best works. 

He has painted his muse as Icarus, with wings of wax, graceful arms stretching up to the sun. As an English noble of old money, with his wealth displayed in his clothing and ornaments scattered through the painting. As Romeo, weeping at the window of his lover. As Mr. Darcy, holding in his hands the words of his sweet. 

No matter the character, no matter the background, no matter the pose, his muse is just as striking as the first time he saw him. 

Every stroke of Armitage’s brush is inspired but the pure beauty of the man who lays before him. Whether or not he’s painting him. 

Ben had fallen asleep a while ago. His conversation slowly petered out as he drifted closer and closer to sleep. Now, Armitage adores Ben’s chatter. He prattles on about whatever comes to his mind and every word makes Armitage fall deeper in love with him. Whether or not he speaks of things of consequence, Armitage drinks in every word, letting Ben’s deep, rich voice melt over him like the most irresistible chocolate. 

The setting sun casts a golden glow over Ben’s exposed skin, making him look like a mirage. His hair shimmers in the light. Armitage stops, putting his paintbrush in his teeth and setting his palette down on his stool. He quickly finds his camera and takes several stunning shots of Ben. He wants to remember this always. He looks more stunning today than he has been any other time he’s sat. 

He goes back to the painting, reveling in the way the sun makes his muse shine. He is glad he broke out his oils for this. He wasn’t sure in the beginning if it was the right medium, but now, gazing at his muse in the setting sun, he’s never been more sure. 

This should be the last sitting for this portrait. He’s been working on it for weeks and gracefully Ben sits every time, patiently waiting for Armitage to say he’s finished for the night. Armitage steps back from his painting and sucks in a shaky breath. 

This, here, is a masterpiece. He glances between the portrait and the sitter, reveling in the elegant lines of his body, the way his hair falls slightly into his face, the way the sheet tumbles down from the divan to spill onto the floor. 

He sets his palette down and runs a hand through his hair. Yes, he’s done. And Ben can finally be allowed to see it. For all the times he’s sat behind this canvas, lounged on the divan, let Armitage fiddle with the sheet until it looked exactly how he wanted it, he never looked at the portrait. Armitage wanted the final work to be his first impression. 

He doesn’t wake him up yet. He cleans his palette and his brushes, puts away the tubes of paint, organizes everything. He puts the stool where it belongs. Only with everything clean does he think about waking his muse. 

Armitage kneels in front of the divan, taking Ben’s right hand which hangs gracefully over the edge of the divan. He gently kisses his palm, his wrist, up his arm to the crook of his elbow. Lips on smooth skin, kisses whisper soft. He moves on to Ben’s left hand, pulling the arm from it’s folded position, away from the pillow and head. He repeats his actions, lips ghosting across warm skin. He kisses further up this arm, moving upwards until he’s right in front of Ben’s face. 

“My love,” he whispers. Armitage kisses Ben’s forehead, cheekbone, cheek and finally, he stirs. His eyes gently flutter open and his lips turn up when they connect with Armitage’s. He tilts his head up and -  _ why, yes _ \- Armitage accepts the invitation, kissing him. The kiss is slow and sweet. Armitage pulls back, smiling. 

“Hello,” Ben whispers, returning the grin. “Are you finished?” He stretches his arms up, points his toes, elongating. Armitage stands, admiring the sight. 

“I am, come…” He moves back to stand in front of the portrait. He sighs happily as he looks at the portrait again, inexorably pleased at the results. He flicks his eyes over to his muse who stands, wrapping the sheet loosely around his body. He follows suit and stands a little behind Armitage, brushing up against him. 

“Oh,” he gasps, “Armie, it’s… Wow.” 

“You like it?” His voice is soft, suddenly unsure. Ben wraps his arms around his beautiful painter.

“I love it.” 

-

Weeks later they’re standing in a very similar position, both dressed in freshly pressed suits. Armitage with finely manicured nails, hair slicked back to perfection, and shoes shined impeccably. Ben only is disheveled in relation to Armitage. His hair in loose waves around his face, his hands calloused, his shoes hastily tied. 

Armitage turns in a tight circle, very slowly, eyes intense as he examines the gallery. He is stopped by large, calloused hands. Ben smiles brightly at him. 

“It’s amazing, baby. Everyone will love it.” He rubs his thumbs in little circles on Armitage’s arms, soothing him only slightly. Armitage turns to look at the poster over by the door.

_ The Anthology of Kylo Ren _

“I still hate that name,” Armitage whispers, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Ben reaches around Armitage and uses his thumb to gently ease his lip out of his teeth. 

He chuckles, “It’s fine. You were the one who didn’t want to use my name.” Armitage leans back against Ben’s chest, sighing. 

On every wall around them are different portraits of Ben. In different poses, costumes, and color palettes. Armitage is still particularly proud of the one where the vantage point is through a stained glass window so Ben’s body is fragmented into different colors. He is also still smug about how he used the lines of the panes to disguise his muse’s nudity in that painting. 

Ben plants a kiss on his cheek and Armitage sighs, content. 

_ He doesn’t need success when he has his muse. _

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on Tumblr [@ira-fae](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ira-fae)


End file.
